Nothing Risque, Nothing Gained - a series of Sherlolly drabbles
by thefabulousmrholmes
Summary: Mike is a little confused as to why he's talking to Molly through a door. And what are those strange sounds coming from the other side? Other drabbles included in too, from whatever I've posted on Tumblr so far. :D
1. Nothing Risque, Nothing Gained

A/N: So here's a list of some Sherlolly drabbles I have up on my Tumblr account (thefabulousmrholmes). Just 2 so far, but they'll vary in terms of ratings. Hope you like them! xx

Disclaimer: I own nothing in the world of Sherlock. That all belongs to Sir ACD, Moffat, Gatiss and the creative crew of the show. Although...I do wish I owned them...a little bit. Maybe just the Belstaff? Or the skull? No? ...fine.

Mike Stamford was slightly concerned as he continually rapped on the door.

Hearing no response, he resumed his short pacing outside Molly Hooper's office. _Where is she? Charlie's getting antsy and he'll bust my arse if I don't complete the report in time. Jesus, another strike and I'm going to be facing the business end of a hissy fit during the next performance review. Boy, is _that_ going to go down well with the Mrs. _

Getting impatient now, he cried out, "Dr Hooper? Molly, are you in there? It's Mike, I've got something important to discuss with you, if you're free."

No reply. Feeling utterly frustrated and on the verge of punching a hole through a very expensive vintage Minton ceramic dish, he turned to leave.

"Yes!" squeaked a very faint voice from the other end of the door.

Eyebrows furrowed, he whipped around quickly, relief rapidly spreading through to his peripheries. "Molly, thank god! Listen, could I come in for a moment? Dr Charles fucking-holier-than-thou Napier wants that report on Angela Petrovich's ovarian biopsy he did last week immediately and won't stop riding my arse about it. I understand you were looking into her case?"

"Oh…right. Yes, yes! I, um, was." She replied, slightly louder and overenthusiastically.

_That's odd_, Mike pondered. But then again, it was Molly. Maybe she was just having one of those good days. _Can't say the same for myself_, he mentally grumbled.

"B-but I'd already sent the – _fuck_ – results over to the gynae d-deparment." A grating voice emanated. It sounded as though she was gritting and gnashing at her teeth very painfully.

"Exactly my point, Molly, but that fool Napier seems to think it got lost in translation and is determined to place the blame on the pathologists as he normally does, the git. I've had it up to- umm. Molly, are you quite alright? I'm finding it slightly strange communicating this way and you sound troubled.", he rambled. Molly was usually very polite and welcoming, what was happening behind that door?

Silence ensued for a while. And…was that panting he heard?

"I'm fine Mike, _don't. Come. In_!" she chimed. "Sorry I…I'm changing. _In. Here._ The lo–_ohh–_cker room was being cleaned."

This was getting more and more bizarre by the minute. Her voice was modulating from short, staccato-like beats to long stretched-out sighs.

"Don't worry about the report, I'll send – _ow, Christ Sher_ – I mean I'll update Dr Napier once I finish tr-_aaa_-nscribing th-the notes!" again with the exaggeratedly cheerful tone.

Suddenly, a crash, following a muffled 'Oompf' and thud against the wall, accompanied by a _very_ suggestive moan occurred simultaneously in a span of mere seconds. He was fairly certain the…questionable noise had not originated from Molly.

_Is there an intruder in there with her? Bloody hell. _

"Molly! What's going on in there? I'm not going to have to break this door down, am I?" he chuckled nervously, despite himself.

"No! _Oh god. _No, Mike, it's just haha, me being a klutz knocked over a few things _off ahh um…ah _my, my TABLE!" she nearly screamed.

Stifled sniggering and gasping breaths, mingled with a few choice curse words interspersed in her inane ramblings continued to pour out from the tiny gap under the timber door.

Feeling totally flabbergasted and very confused over the turn of affairs, Mike slowly backed away from the corridor, a peculiar sense of embarrassment creeping up. _It's not what I – nooo. No. Molly? No. _

"Alright then, take care Molly, I'll see you Friday."

He didn't wait for an answer.

"_Fuck_, oh god, Sherlock, please!" she managed to gasp out as she desperately clung to him, wanting, _needing_ him to find her release.

Her eyelids were fluttering and her head repeatedly thumped against the hard surface of the wall as his relentless thrusts persisted. She was going to pass out pretty soon from all the overstimulation.

His fingers dug into her pelvis as he hoisted her further upwards against the wall and rammed into her rougher than ever. His mouth found her nipple as he tentatively licked around areola, finally letting the wildness take over and sucking uninhibitedly on the taut nub. He let go and softly blew over the wetness of his saliva. He emulated his ministrations onto the other breast, knowing very well the effect this cycle of warmth and coolness on her sensitive nipples, would have on her. He smirked against her breast and almost growled at the pride he felt on eliciting this reaction on his beautiful Molly.

She lolled her neck further back and wantonly released a cross between a moan and a cry, relieved she didn't have to hold back any longer. She knew he was close as he sunk his teeth into the nook of her acromioclavicular joint (_it's a wonder she could even remember the anatomy in the state she was in_) and let out a low, deep groan with some indistinguishable string of words that sounded vaguely like her name.

Soon, she followed his high with a whimper that would have escalated into a yell, had it not been for the swift misdirection of his mouth, pulling her into a fierce kiss.

They took some time to compose themselves, tenderly nipping at each other's laughably swollen lips, as they sank to the floor exhausted from the intense romp.

Molly lay her head contently on his chest as he drew random Celtic symbols on her back, humming with pleasure. They lay there, in comfortable silence for a good seven minutes before Molly's eyes sprang open and she leaped off of Sherlock's lap.

Stung, at the loss of her heat he pouted as she scrambled for her clothes. She began furiously pulling up her trousers as she ranted off into a tirade.

"Sherlock, you prat! I cannot believe I let you do that to me while Mike was outside the bloomin' door! What if he heard us?! Good lord he probably thinks I'm some nutter and a pervert… 'satisfying' myself shamelessly in the confines of _my office!_ Oh, what a nightmare. How am I going to face him in the morning tomorrow? Is it too late to call in sick? Hmmm…well Meena's on-call, I _could_, potentially ask her to cov-"

He wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, placing a languid kiss on her neck and chortled joyfully at the flush that had spread to the top of her ears, no doubt from sheer embarrassment. "Will you for once shut up, Molly? It's not the end of the world even if he _did_ hear anything, which I very much doubt he did. You were marvellous, initially, at hiding your desire."

Glaring, she twirled around to face him, holding herself at arm's length from his shoulders. "Yes I was, and clearly you were thoroughly enjoying yourself, while I was lying there in a complete bumbling mess! Oh you are without an _iota_ of uncertainty the most obnoxious, appalling, downright audacious man I've ever met, William Sherlock Scott Holmes!"

He flinched, both at the tone of her voice and the reciting of his full name which he passionately hated. Realising he needed some urgent damage control, he crushed her into a tight embrace and whispered lasciviously in her still inflamed ear, "Don't tell me there wasn't a part of you that _loved_ that, Hooper."

Her nostrils flared, fighting to stay in control, despite her tortured inner stupid little self wanting to surrender herself over to that very same obnoxious, appalling and audacious man until her voice turned hoarse from ultimate satiety. A small smile threatened to emerge, the corners of the lips slanting upwards.

She looked back at his face, smile widening at the mischievous glint in his eyes. "You're incorrigible, you know that don't you? And look what you've done to my blouse. It's one of my favourites too and thanks to your impatience, it's totally ruined."

He laughed at her crestfallen expression.

"I'll get Mrs Hudson to mend that for you. Meanwhile, you're very welcome to wear my shirt."

She raised her eyebrows at the notion. "And what will you wear?"

"My ever trusty Belstaff of course. Besides, the shirt looks better on you." He quipped, tucking a renegade strand behind her ear.

Shrugging on the oversized shirt, she tidied up her desk a little, shaking her head at the disarray and inwardly cursing herself for allowing this unexpected tryst to clutter her neatly arranged patient files. It was going to take days to sort it all out. Oh the things she'd sacrifice for 1200 seconds of passion.

Eventually buttoning up his coat, with his upturned collar of course, he slipped his scarf around his neck, swooped over to Molly and gently kissed the tip of her nose.

"I'll see you at Scotland Yard tomorrow then. Why the _hell_ Geoff wants us to be there for something worthy only of a six, at best, I don't understand. Well. I do. But John had this look when I told him I wasn't going. It actually reminded me of you when you're feeling _particularly_ malevolent towards me. Strange, no? Anyway, it's going to be highly boring, extremely dull and the only saving grace is that you'll be there for a change. Say…it might be a bit forward, but what do you think of the idea of um - _christening_ Lestrade's office?"

He expertly avoided the boot Molly threw in his direction and gave her a quick wink before trotting off with her ripped blouse to Mrs Hudson.


	2. When Darkness Falls

Molly fiddled with the hem of her slip as she paced about in the living room in her dressing gown, a loose-fitting garment that did little to conceal her delicate figure.

Right now she was looking for her sleeping tablets. _Where the hell did I put them?_ They were not in the chest of drawers near the mantelpiece, not on the dressing table in the spare room, and definitely not on the bathroom shelf. _Perhaps in my bag? I do keep emergency medication in there at times._

She rummaged her way in the dark through the various bags and coats lined up in the store, found and opened the bag, and extracted a strip of Valium. Pouring herself a glass of water in the kitchen, she tossed her head back, sending her long tresses tumbling down her back, instead of where they had lain limp on her shoulders.

Before she could swallow the tablet, she heard a small cough emerge from the master bedroom. Shuffling of the duvet covers followed immediately afterwards…and then silence. _He's awake?_

Swallowing an ever-growing lump, she placed the glass down onto the counter top and braced her hands over its edge. Molly exhaled a mouthful of wasted air, her head hung low.

_I'm going to have to talk to him at some point. Maybe…maybe if I calm my nerves a little first. _

Abandoning the tempting tablet, she slowly tiptoed her way across the flat and headed down to the basement.

The rain was thundering down onto the corrugated tin roof. There had been a massive short circuit down in the basement a while back, plunging it into permanent darkness – which was just as well, as Mrs Hudson had long since given up the thought of ever successfully renting it out. Instead, she had found a much better use for the dilapidated hellhole.

Trusting her alleged paramour, Mr Chatterjee's advice, she had converted the room into a cellar – a perfect sanctuary for the current and ex-residents of 221B whenever they needed a fix after an especially gruelling session with the infuriating consulting detective.

The door of the basement flat opened to a gentle pressure. _Tsk tsk. _Mrs Hudson had been tippling on the quiet and had neglected to close the door properly. Her eyes slowly adjusting to the blackness, she squinted, struggling to look up at the bottles arrayed in front of her.

Some foreign wines, sherries and vermouth. Rum, gin and vodka. She'd never been much of a drinker; a little went to her head rather too quickly, she was well aware of that. But the bottles certainly looked attractive, and she felt in need of some sustenance, so she poured herself a generous peg of whisky and drank it neat.

A warm glow quickly spread through her body like wildfire. _Ah, I needed that._ She felt a little better about that. _Life would be so much more tolerable with constant access to alcohol. _

Realising about that much would do, she steeled her nerves, gulped down her worries and balled her fists before steadily marching up the stairs to her flat.

As she approached the corridor leading up to his room, however, she felt her confidence slowly ebbing away. Debating whether to knock quietly or just scram off to the spare room, she silently screamed. _Damn it, Molly Hooper! You've mustered up what little courage you've left and you're _going _to open the bloody door, if it's the last thing you do. _

Molly pushed the door as meticulously as she could and cringed as the hinges wept despite the slightest pressure. The mass of limbs on the bed shifted a tad, clearly unhappy about the intrusive noise.

She made her way to the edge of the bed, where he lay on his right, facing her, eyes wide shut. Gulping again, she placed her petite posterior on the gap between his hip and the bed and smoothed out the duvet covers wrapped over his chest.

_Look at you. So peaceful. _This was a rare sight for Molly, and though she knew she needed to interrupt his bliss, she couldn't help smile at his knocked-out expression, quietly sniggering.

A soft pink glow suffused through the room, from the street lamp outside streaking through the blinds. Her smile vanished as she recalled the bitter fight that had taken place not 24 hours ago in this very room.

A storm of sadness suddenly enveloped her, stabbing through her chest wall, as though skewering her. Her lower lips quivered as she gently traced her index figure over the sleeping man's cupid bow lips repeatedly. A lone tear fell and sneakily made its way to his chin as she crouched over him. "I'm sorry."

Abruptly, as if on cue, he opened his eyes.

Her finger remained on his parted lip as he looked utterly confused by the anguish smeared across her features. Giving her a kiss on her finger and taking her hand he sleepily pulled her towards him. "Come back to bed."

"I'm sorry Sherlock. About…about what I said last night." She struggled against his form as he tried to wrap his arms around her torso, urging her to share the warmth.

Chuckling a little, he lifted her chin with his thumb and wiped the tears threatening to cascade down her hairline. "Molly, none of what you said wasn't true. I _am_ a cold-hearted, pompous, unfeeling ex-junkie who doesn't have a bone of affection in my ironically bony body, mostly rendered incapable of love due to my horrendous experiences in life. There, I whole-heartedly agree with you, will you stop squirming and just settle down already?"

She furrowed her brows and bit her lip, feeling the familiar guilt and remorse creeping up. "Sherlock, I said that in spite, I was obviously being petty. Here I am trying to apologise, and you're laughing it off? _I'm_ apologising to you, you know, I would think you would be milking every last drop of self-reproach from me."

Sherlock sighed, running a hand through his curly mop as he sat up in bed. Molly, starting to feel self-conscious again inched away from him but he grasped her wrist and set it across his abdomen, absent-mindedly playing with her tendrils.

Glad that he was at least being accommodating, she tugged her lips upwards and rested her head over his heart, feeling a steady drum emanate. While waiting for his response, she subconsciously began to count his pulse, noting for any irregular rhythms or abnormalities in character. _Ever the doctor_.

"If these last few years with you have taught me anything Molly, is that I'm clearly not a very patient man, or an easy man to live with. John is the walking and talking proof of that very statement. The man has a constant overwhelming urge to punch me in the face, even though it's usually subtext," – she snorted – "but I…I'm content. I'm happy, which was an emotion I only associated with my work, which now extends to the time I spend with you. The rush I feel when exposing a crime syndicate of red-headed men using a newspaper advertisement, I equate to seeing you curled up near the fireplace in my robe, reading the latest medical journal. Call me odd, weird, eccentric but I do." Molly breathed unsteadily, her counting long deserted, eyes blazing.

"Now…now I know _I'm _happy. But considering some of my…questionable and unforgiving behaviour towards you in the past, not to mention my own past littered with decrepit details of depraved actions which I… deeply regret, _you_ may not be happy. And I cannot – or rather I do not give myself the right – to harbour any anger towards you, when so much of what I've done-"

She sat up briskly, cradling his face between her small hands. His refusal to meet her eyes initially ate at her, but she forced him to focus all his attention on her before speaking. "You listen to me, Holmes and you listen to me good. I am the _happiest_ and most satisfied I've ever been, emotionally and physically, _only_ with you. Nothing you do, or say, will alter that. What I said last night was cruel and harsh and you have _every_ right to be mad, berate me, throw tantrums, the whole works. Maybe not as much as I do, but still."

Biting her lip, she let out a little giggle. His pained face broke out into a boyish smirk as he laughed along with her. Her hands still caressing his cheeks, she rested her forehead against his and whispered, "When it comes to your work, you are the wildest, most exulting man I've ever met, galloping away with all the exhilaration in the world. And to be compared to that…is pretty amazing. And I never want you to feel guilty about that."

He pulled away from her a little and raised his eyebrows in amusement. "Now that's just the whiskey talking."

Molly leaned in placing a gentle kiss to his lips, tentatively. Spirits soaring at her initiation, he grabbed her waist, and crushed her to his front, deepening the kiss, and tugging her hair firmly, the way she liked. She let out a soft mewl and climbed onto his lap, wrapping her legs behind him.

They remained so, in their passionate embrace for a few minutes before pulling up for some much needed oxygen. Finding it unbearable to be apart for much longer though, Molly proceeded to slowly nip at his neck, working her way up his jaw to the sensitive area behind his ear, as he rewarded her ministrations with a low groan. _Bingo._

"Molly…", he managed to murmur in a deep undertone, his eyes tightly closed, unable to focus on the matter at hand.

"Hmm…", she replied distractedly, determined to produce further wonderful, incoherent noises from him and shutting him up for good.

"I-", he growled as his little minx had managed to sink her teeth into what she called 'the elusive sweet spot', "I'm a…a little mad." He managed to blurt out.

She stopped at once, and raised an eyebrow, trying to hide her grin as she caught the blatant mischief in his eyes. Shoving him flat onto his back, she straddled his hips and bent low hovering her lips near his ear, muttering seductively, "Well, then I'll just have to make it up to you, won't I?"


End file.
